Maison D'Etre
by UE
Summary: Postseries. Electra meets a very depressed—and a very drunk—Faye in a bar by chance.


Beginning Notes: Inspired by the writing of radishface, as well as the Real Folk Blues Parts I & II and the Cowboy Bebop Movie, Tenkuu No Tobira: Knockin' On Heaven's Door, from which Electra comes. Be warned: Angsty!Faye abounds, which means major OOCness. My first CB fic ever so constructive criticism is very much appreciated.

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**Maison D'Etre**

**(The House Of Being)**

It was quiet when Electra walked in. The bartender was absent-mindedly wiping a glass with a yellow rag, glancing over only once to see who she was, if she was the type that carried around a lot of cash. She wasn't. A couple of the card-players in the corner looked up from their tables to eye her over, but her coat rained from shoulder to shin and she was clothed far too well for their tastes. Losing all immediate interest, they returned to their game without so much as a word exchanged.

She looked around warily and, lifting the translucent black veil that draped over her face, immediately headed towards the bar.

There weren't that many drinkers able to survive this long into the night. The ones who still remained were interspersed on the various tables and lined up by the bar, slumped over from the alcohol buzzing in their brains. The lights were dimmed, coloring the room into a muted sunset, and the smells of drugs and cigarettes lazed in the thick air, the one thing that everyone there shared. Beyond that, there was no interaction, no intimacy. Each person was fragmented from his neighbor, and she saw them all as a crowd of lone individuals. It was to be expected since that was how the entire galaxy lived and thrived. She was used to it by now.

"Whiskey."

Electra tossed the woolongs in the bartender's direction and grabbed the only free seat at the end of the bar, right next to a skimpily dressed woman whose chin was rested beside her drink and whose eyes were staring intently at the ice within.

The bartender poured and planted a glass of whiskey in front of Electra and then proceeded to clean another glass. Running one slim hand through her hair, Electra reached for the drink, but just as her lips met the rim, she felt the other woman suddenly sit right up.

"I wanna whishkey too," she slurred, waving her arms wildly in an effort to try to get the bartender's attention.

"Ya ain't got the money, kid. Just finish what ya got," came the reply.

"Gehmee ah whishkey now!"

"Look, kid—"

"Here, get her one."

Electra leaned over and placed some coins by the other woman's seemingly untouched drink. The bartender snatched the money, looking straight into the face of its provider before serving the whiskey in hard-pressed silence. Upon seeing the shot set in front of her, the drunken woman turned to her and smiled smugly.

"Whussername? I liketa know tha names of tha people who I owe muh-knee to."

"Don't worry about it."

Turning away, Electra took a sip of her drink, savoring the bitterness biting her tongue.

"Imma Faye," Faye said abruptly. "C'mon, tell me whuss—"

"Drink your drink, Faye, and let me drink mine."

Electra closed her eyes, as though believing that very act would make Faye vanish once she reopened them.

"I'm not Faye, you know."

Her voice was too solemn—too _sober_—to be from the woman she knew but a few seconds ago. Nevertheless, Electra ignored her, waiting a moment so as to let some of the ice dilute her whiskey before bringing her glass up to her mouth once more.

"I'm not Faye."

Electra spun around. She was just about to calmly ask her to leave her alone, but then she took one look at Faye and hesitated: her skin looked cold underneath the yellow leather, her lips were tight and dry; stray purple strands of hair fell across her swollen eyes, and faded bits of mascara and makeup lined her tired cheeks and eyelids. There was something in the eyes, though, something like a dying fire, passionate and aching, child-like and desperate, that kept Electra locked and unable to look away.

"I'm not Faye," she whispered in finality. "Faye Valentine was someone else, a girl who lived on Earth, someone who enjoyed watching the sea. She loved the sea, I think, loved how it was a rainbow of blue in her eyes, how it sparkled under the sun and moved beneath the moon, dancing in the dark while everyone else slept."

Faye lowered her eyes and raised her voice.

"Faye Valentine…she dreamed, too. Faye Valentine loved to dream. Someone once told her the stars made a sea in space so she wanted to see it. She'd dream about it and when she told all her friends, they all smiled and loved her more for it…

"But then she fell asleep before she could ever go anywhere."

Her face shot up.

"And when she woke, she was in a different world. Oh, it was the same world, but it was a different world and I was the same Faye, but I was a different Faye. There are no more seas and no more dreams."

She laughed again, more coldly this time.

A pause then seized the air.

"I'm sorry," Electra said softly, not exactly certain as to why she felt that way, but only knowing that she did.

Faye shook her head in mental protest and stared off into an invisible oblivion.

"No, don't be. I was Whitney's fool, just like Gren was Vicious', and sure, Ed always acted like one, but that's only because she never understood. I guess no one could really ever understand her either, but what goes along comes, too. And Jet—well, Jet was Jet. Good ol' Jet." There was an angry hint to her voice, but Electra remained quiet, knowing that it was simply the irreparable sting of nostalgia. "But Spike…"

Electra's heart stopped.

"Sp…Spike?"

Wavering and hesitant.

"Yeah, Spike. Spike Spiegel. A common name."

Faye barely breathed, her eyes still far away. Electra bit down on her lower lip and said nothing.

"I didn't need 'em. I didn't need any of 'em. I never shoulda gone back, but she asked me to and so I had to. I _had_ to. You can't resist someone like her. He never talked about it, but I knew. I never wanted him to talk to me about her and when he left the first time I was hoping it would be forever, but then he comes back and tells Jet a story about some cat and tiger and how one dies and the other dies, and I know he's saying this because they're all like Julia—strong and beautiful and dead—and just like that, he says he has to go. I don't think he was ever going to tell me if I wasn't listening in. He only told Jet. Good ol' Jet. I grabbed my gun right after. I don't understand why he had to go and I don't ever want to understand because I don't want to want to understand, but he stops and I get to see what's inside of him for the first time. He goes off about his eye and I let him, and he walks off and I let him, and my gun goes off and he lets it, and before I even know it, all my bullets are in the Bebop and he's gone. He's gone off to die."

A wry smile.

"What am I saying? He was just going to see if he was ever alive."

As if suddenly aware of her own miserable existence, Faye grabbed both of her nearby drinks and ferociously downed the contents of each in two dramatic swigs. And she transformed. Her face no longer looked fatigued but was flushed bright pink, her lips became fuller, redder, and she rubbed her eyes, rubbing them harder and harder until there were no more nonexistent tears left.

Electra stared at her. Silence flew between them and Faye, even in her inebriated state, could see that the woman was struggling to come up with words. She didn't want a response. She didn't know what she wanted, but she knew this – what they had now—sitting there, together, despite being in a world that couldn't decide whether or not it was real—was better than had it not ever existed. Under the influence of alcohol and artificial lighting, it seemed like Electra's eyes, dark blue and widening, were shimmering with a sort of sadness that rarely touched people like her. And those eyes, which seemed to say to her, "yes, you are Faye Valentine," were better than nothing at all.

The minutes died and at last, Electra moved. She moved closer to Faye, face softening into a tentative smile, and held out her hand.

"My name is Electra Ovilo."

Faye laughed wearily, unbelieving but relaxed, and accepted.

"Thank you, Electra…"

Her hand refused to release and Electra understood.

"Thank you."

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Ending Notes: In case people are wondering, the switching of tenses during Faye's long block of dialogue with Electra was purposeful. Sorry for the funky, schizophrenic behavior.


End file.
